It’s about a two hour drive between Geraldton and Morawa through farming country and a drive I always enjoy. This time, being wildflower season, it was awesome. It would have been more awesome if I prepared for being covered in pollen and dust. I was cavalier, “Oh! I’ve never suffered from hayfever!” was my dismissive response. But I’ve returned home with bigger bags under my eyes than in my hands and feeling totally dehydrated.
This was a bucket list item and worth every discomfort.
We left Geraldton and the vivid, fluoro yellow canola fields behind to enter wildflower country.
There were acres of yellow, white and pink pom poms, millions of them.
Egg yolk paper everlastings, too.
Just carpets of flowers as far as the eye could see.
These flowers were on shrubs, native, no doubt.
And entwined around small tree limbs, the gorgeous, delicate, fringed lily.
I chased this little one from tree to tree. His call, beautiful and melodic and so strong, for a tiny bird. My first photograph of a black honey eater.
I’m home for a couple of days resting before another round of travel next week. And, then, the Murchison region, the Midwest outback. I’ll heed advice and remember to pack some anti-histamine!
As always
a dawn bird
In response to Word of the Day Challenge – Advice
This morning I walked around in Foxes Lair. There were so many flowers to see and enjoy. It was overwhelming. 
The long view was beautiful. But what was at my feet?
I found this straggly plant, probably a weed. Just green foliage but wait, there was a hint of colour. It is imperceptible even now when I look for it.
I waited for the sunrise and returned to the plant.
I’m not sure if it is a weed or not but it lifted my flagging spirits.
The tea tree flowers were growing everywhere, sprayed here and there, over leaf debris.
Then there was this gorgeous plant. Exquisite.
This enamel orchid took my breath away. I’ve never seen one this tiny.
I looked deep into tiny flowers. Each perfect in creation.
This trigger plant was a stronger pink compared to those that were in the palest pink hues.
A gorgeous succulent.
There were all shades of purple. This one so vivid against grey debris.
I stopped by Minninup Pool, just outside Collie. 
How many shades of yellow can one find? 
I had heard the underside of the blue enamel orchid is beautiful. It is.
In nature, when differences come together, it creates nothing but spectacular beauty. 
A wild orchid.
A bottlebrush waiting to bloom.
I found hundreds of these white and pink lily like flowers in Margaret River.
The flowers were growing on stalks a few feet high.
And these poms of white found a place in wooded areas too.
Yellow everlasting flowers growing roadside in the Wheatbelt.
or growing side by side with blue leschenaultia in dry, gravel soil.
The beautiful velvety native purple flowers on grey foliage that look extremely ordinary from a distance. But close up? You be the judge.
These interesting flowers are tiny and waxy. I’ve seen creamy lemon ones in the Goldfields. They glisten in the sun like dew. Up close, they are delicate and finely veined, like aged hands. I’ve seen hundreds and thousands of these, but this time, I saw one in bloom. Exquisite.
Then there are the tiny everlastings that glow like embers, along the ground.
The beautiful spears of grevillea that grow wild everywhere.
Or these mops of orange.
and blue.
The delicate intricacy of the cone flower.
And tiny, tiny, butter yellow blooms.
I still find white flowers joyful.
To the novice, this is just rubble. Not me. My heart raced as I walked around. I anticipated seeing some wild orchids, just as the blog had published.
Soon I found the first orchids. 
Tiny bulbs. I had never seen orchid bulbs before.
The donkey orchids bloomed, stained like tortoise shells, in their hundreds.
Among the grass there were spider orchids.
Oh! so graceful in bud!
When blooming, they danced around, ta da ing their way across grass and rubble.
Their heart, exquisite.
Some bloomed in trios, each more graceful than their neighbour, in still posture.
I headed over to the Lookout where there is a steep gradient over granite rock to bush land below. I’ve found white sugar orchids here before, so I went looking. I wasn’t disappointed!
There were some that were stronger in colour. Each detail so perfect in dusk light.
Others, tinted white.
And others, deep in the bush, barely pink.
Fifty kilometers from town, I noticed the sun was setting to my left and a huge moon rose from behind a grove of trees on my right. Startled by the silent luminosity, I had to stop to take a picture. The presence of it in the sky calmed my spirit. There was benevolence in the light. The only motorist on the road, I slowed down, no longer alone in poor weather.
Next morning I walked around the reserve. I’m usually alone here so I claim this as mine each time I visit! Winter has left it lush with bright yellow daubes of acacia everywhere.
A closer look at the spikes of flowers is worth the moment of quiet.
I stood in a ‘forest’ of banksia. These ones are quite different to anything I’ve seen elsewhere.
They are a beautiful tumeric colour with the tip, dipped in white. A ‘ta da’ moment comes to mind!
I’ve learned to look at my footsteps. No longer afraid of snakes (although I’m still snake aware), I’ve learnt to read the footprints of others. Parrots! So I look up.
This must have been a young one trying his best to make ‘parrot calls’, and not quite getting there. Yet!
The clumps of hibbertia are everywhere. They are bright in debris that gathers at the base of the gum trees.
I love this hakea that grows like giant kebabs with flowers blooming intermittently between spiky, sharp leaves.
But I love to find the solitary one, like this one, pale ice cream pink.
Some so tiny, they make sand and pebbles seem large.
I love the incongruity of delicate flowers growing among thicket.
While huge sprawling bushes have prongs of flowers that reach out.
I’m not sure what these were, but they were striking among the greenery.
There were swatches of these yellow flowers but it’s easy to see why these two caught my eye.
I stopped my car on the way home for one last picture of the fields of fluro yellow canola that splashed colour, as far as the eye could see.
These tiny everlastings were flowers within flowers. Thousands of these roadside.
I thought they were exquisite.
This was a tiny flower. The sand gives some perspective to the size.
Then there were succulents.
Were these past their prime? Still beautiful, I thought.
And carpets of these succulents, too, along the sand hills, ocean side.
The wattle has a distinctive perfume. Like, honey.
Vivid colours in harsh country.
There were thousands of these along the coast too.
This was one of my favourites. There were carpets of these, yes, acres of flowers, but this one caught my eye. It seemed to support a whole colony.
Driving through the Midwest, I realised, why settle for a bunch of flowers when I can have a paddock. 
I’m always amazed to find pink in tough, mining towns. On reflection, given the volatility of the industry and profession, perhaps it is Nature’s way to symbolize hope. 
Every time I return from a trip, a neglected garden reminds me, it will continue to bloom, with or without my presence. A helpful reminder for ego, so I take notes.
There are no words to describe finding one’s first enamel orchid along a bush track but I’ll try. They look shiny and plastic. The crick in the neck from the double take was worth it! They are breathtakingly beautiful.
Likewise discovering that shaggy bush in Esperance, turns into a gorgeous waterfall acacia came as a surprise like no other one spring.
If one summons enough courage to visit Lesueur National Park early mornings, when there is no one else there but Nature, the drawcard is easy to see.
I found ‘kebabs’ of flowers there, too, so the gnawing hunger pangs make me return again and again.
Pom poms along bush tracks brings out the inner cheerleader, I never knew resided in me.
There’s infinite joy when a small bird allows you to keep it company.
In a still moment, unadorned simplicity, is where Nature does it best.
There’s a certain beauty to waiting before bloom. (I wish I knew this in my youth).
Rice crackers are found on the beach, if you look for them hungrily.
The sand dunes are not an obstruction between me and the ocean.
They are made from tiny shells and quartz. Each piece infinitesimal and exquisite.
A pesky weed is beautiful too.
A Shared Space 
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